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BY AMY GRAY. 




BALTIMORE: 

KELLY & PIET. 

1868. 






Entered aepording to Art of CongrefiS, in the year 180S, V)y 

K E L I> Y .(i P I E T , 

In the Clerk's ( fTieo of the District Court of the United States for the 

District of IMaryland. 



Kdhj d: rut. Printers, Eallimore. 



di^bUathu, 



T 

DEJR LITTLE JULIA JACKSON, 

A X I) 

ALL OTHER LITTLE ONES OF THE SOUTH, 

^\\W HAVE liKKX 

Orphaned by the %X\\x, 

THESE POEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

THAT THE TATHCR CF THE FATHERIE8S 

WILL FOLD OVKR THEM TlllC WLN(i,S OF IIIS LOVE, 

IS THE 

Oranust pnincr of tbclr ^^-icnb, 

Amy Gray. 




PAGE. 

The Lily of the Valley; or, Margie axd 1 9 

AlMEE 28 

The Broken Chord 42 

An Angel was at her Side 53 

The Mute's Prayer GO 

A Southern Picture 63 

Looking H ea venward 09 

Musings 72 

Dixie 75 

Our Angel Boy 79 

The Rain on the Window-Pane 85 

Stanzas on Seeing Little Julia Jackson's Picture in 

"The Land We Love" 88 

Edgewood Cottage 91 

The Last Good-Night 94 

Maggie of the South-land 97 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Baby at Play wit;i a Sunp.ram 101 

Twi I.TGIIT 1 Oo 

Minnie 105 

Lines on Receivino a Letteii ei;i».m a Frienh in Floimha 

CONTAINING SOME Fl.oWEKS 107 

lUitDiE Has FE(nvN 110 

Peace to our IIonoked Dead 112 




PREFACE. 




HE object of the puWication of these Po- 
ems, and in view of which most of them 
were written, is to aid in the education 
of destitute little girls of the South, or- 
plianed hy the late war. The author cannot hope 
for more than a mite, from so small a volume — the 
production, too, of an unknown writer ; but the 
proceeds^ whatever they may be, will be unreserv- 
edly appropriated to the object above named. To 
an intelligent and generous reading public, the 
author confides this little work, feeling sure that 
their generosity will secure for it a patronage that 
its intrinsic merit cannot hope to obtain. 

It was of old the duty and privilege of the chosen 
people of God to offer the first fruits of all their 
possessions to His service ; and it is with gratitude 
for many mercies received, and with earnest prayers 



O PREFACE. 

for the Divine blessing, that the author would dedi- 
cate the first fruits of her pen to an object which 
seems in accordance with the teachings of our 
Blessed Lord, who has said: " Take heed that ye 
despise not one of these little ones ; for I say unto 
you, that in Heaven their angels do always behold 
the face of my Father which is in Heaven," 

Amy Gray. 
The Homestead, December \Wi, 1867. 




THE LILY OF THE YALLEY 

OR, 

MARGIE AND T. 




[OFTLY tlie morning mist 

The valley and streamlet kiss'd, 

Wrapping them iij) in a veil of light ; 
While from the bough was heard 
The song of the mocking-bird, 

Warbling his praises far up in the 
heisht. 



Just by the little gate, 

Where we had promis'd to wait, 
In the early morning stood 3Iargie and I : 
And she laid her head on my breast with a sigh, 
As she said, in her soft, sweet voice ; 
^'I hardly know whether to weep or rejoice, 

That he goes with the gallant band, 

Who strike for our native land' — 

Who strike with a purpose high, 

To conquer tlie foe, or to die. 



10 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OH, 

''It is something noble and grand 

To defend one's native land 

From the cruel, ruthless band 
That pause, to desolate each home. 
As through our Southern land they roam ; 

But oh ! I wish that the war was o'er ; 

That we heard no more the cannon's roar ; 

That Peace was ours once more. 

"Ah ! now I think I hear 

The sound of those bugles clear. 
And the tread of bare feet that may never again 
Press the native soil, that now they stain 

With crimson drops that write. 

In characters of light, 
Their record on each Southern plain. 

"Hark ! they are nearer now ; 

They have reach'd the mountain's brow ; 
The sun bathes them all in a flood of light, 
Chasing away the shadows of night ; 
Emblem it is of the glory bright^ 

That, ere his last soft ray 

Comes with the dying day, 
Shall break on a waiting nation's sight. 



"On come the legions grand ; 
On come the noble band ; — 



MARGIE AND I. 11 

Grand, in the strength of their purpose high; 
Noble, to suffer ; bold, to defy ; 
Eeady to battle, ready to die 

For the land and home of their birth ; 

Strong in their conscious worth. 

"See Jiim, with eagle eye ; 

See him, with courage high : 
Mighty thought, on his brow reposes ; 
Depth of soul, his blue eye discloses ; 
Well may we strew his path with roses : — • 

See him, our sentinel, stand 

With the kei/s in his mighty hand, — 
The key to each home — the key to each breast — 
The key to safety — the key to rest — 
The key of our independence blest : — 

The Stone-ioall of our land ! 

"Here, gleams a head of snow ; 

There, is youth's vernal glow ; 
Age hath vacated his easy chair ; 
Boyhood hath left his castle of air, 
While there lingers on his forehead fair 
A mother's kiss, o'er his life, her ]3rayer : 

High, o'er the charger's neigh ; 

Clear, o'er the battle's fray ; 

Hear the whole nation pray ; — 
' Father, protect them, 'mid dangers and harms ; 
Father, spread o'er them Thy sheltering arms.' " 



12 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

Thus spoke the voice so low, 

While on her cheek a glow 
Kindled as bright as the rose in her hair — 
The damask rose she had just placed there, 
With a starry spra}' of Jessamine fair ; , 

Ornaments pure and meet, 

The eye of love to greet, 

Breathing their language of perfume sweet. 

Margie had ever been knowni 
By a name, that seemed all her own ; — 
A name, that suited this flower so frail, 
That had waken'd to life in her own sweet vale ;- 
A name, that had grown a household word 
In each home, where its whisper soft was heard ;■ 
A name, that the needy and poor 
Breathed tenderest blessings o'er — 
The Lily of the Shenandoah. 

Carrying joy wherever she went, 

On labors of love intent ; 
Not a weary stranger her doorway pass'd, 
But a tender, pitying look she cast 
At the pilgrim, breasting Time's wintry blast ; 

And she seemed an angel of light 

To his dimmed and weary sight, 

As she stood in her dress of white ; 
For snowy robes she always wore, 
This Lily of the Shenandoah. 



MARGIE AND I. 13 

Not a little child at play 
Ever wantler'd far astray 
Near her homestead, losing his way, 
But it was her gentle, her guiding hand. 
Which led him back to the household band : — 
Never a bird, in the cold and frost, 
At the window paused, but some crumbs she 

toss'd : — 
No wonder that, as she went and came. 
They gave her that sweet, endearing name ; 
That, as she passed their door. 
With fervor the hungry and poor 
Asked that Heaven's sunshine, ever more, 
Might brighten tins floicer of the Shenandoah. 

There, in the morning light. 

She stood in her robes of white. 
With her tiny hand on the half-closed gate, 
As she was ever wont to Avait, 

Looking with anxious eye 

From the vale to the mountain high. 

Watching the army passing by. 

At her side, in a moment more, 

From the troops of the Shenandoah, 
As on toward the foe, the brave legions fly, 
A gallant rider paus'd, and I 
Turned my head away, with a prayer and a sigh, 
As they breath' d to each other tlieir fervent good- 
bye, 



14 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

As softly there fell on my ear 
Low, whisper'd words so dear. 

"My Lily fair," he said. 

As he bowed his knightly head, 
"So much fragrance and joy o'er my life thou 

hast shed, 
That but for my country and thine, I ne'er 
For a moment would leave thee, Margie dear : 
Yet these partings will soon be o'er, 
And thou wilt be mine ever more. 
Sweet flower of the Yale of the Shenandoah !" 

Then touching his charger of gray. 

In a moment he sped away ; 
Yet I saw the tender light in his eye. 
Caught a glimpse of the cap that he waved on high ; 
And as I heard her low, soft sigh. 

As her gentle heart was stir'd 

By the last fond, parting Avord, 

I drew to my bosom our poor, lone bird. 

Margie was young and fair ; 

And the locks of her silken hair 
Seemed a flood of golden sunlight, shed 
From smiling Heaven on her drooping head ; 

While the hue of her beaming eye 

Seemed borrow 'd from the sky ; 



MARGIE AND I. 15 

Aud the lilies and roses played hide and go seek 
On the pensive brow and the rounded cheek, 
And the quivering lips that essay'd to speak 
Their tremulous good-bye. 

''Will he ever come back again 

With the noble heroic train, 
Who carry victory wherever they go ? 
At whose name the cheeks of a million glow 
W^ith a pride that only a nation can know, 

Whose sons a name have made, 

Of which legions stand afraid, — 

The glorious Stonewall Brigade ! 

" Now let us go away ; 

Not till the close of day, 
May we hope their gallant deeds to hear ; 
Then will we come again. Sister dear, 
To watch by the little wicket here ; 

For he said he would surely send 

A note by a trusty friend. 
To tell of the victory that crown'd our arms. 
And if he were guarded from threatening harms:" — 

And Margie and /turned away, 

Nor came, till the twilight gray 

Set his seal on the face of the smiling day. 



16 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

Again, at the little gate ■ 

We came, at even, to wait : 
We had listened, all day, to the cannon's roar ; 
But now we heard its boom no more, 
And by this we knew that the strife was o'er ; 

And in the day's decline. 

With her little hand in mine, 
In the twilight shadow stood Margie and I : 
And she spoke, but 'twas with a weary sigh : — 

"Sister, 'tis easy to say 

Good-bye, when the waking day 
Bathes all the earth in its smile of light ; 
But oh ! when we see the sunshine bright 
Step away at the tread of the coming night, 

It makes the heart stand still. 

As though an icy chill 

Had stay'd the life-blood's flowing rill. 

" I hear the distant horn, 

As I did at early morn ; 
But I dare not lift ray head, lest I 
Should some terrible scene of blood descry ; 

I cannot help trembling for fear 

Some terrible news I should hear, 

Tidings sad of the army dear. 

" I think I hear tliem say, — 
' Our army has gained the day ;' 



MARGIE AND I. 17 

As on, the victorious thousands haste : 
Sister ! put your arm round my waist ; 

For my heart is beating high, 

And a film comes over my eye. 

When I think how many must die, 
How many must fall in this fearful strife, 
Whose glorious death is the Nation's life. 

'^^ There, from the ranks, I see 
A messenger coming to me. 

Why did he send a comrade bold ? 

Perchance he is left behind to hold 
Some field, where the foe, last night. 
Lit their camp-fires warm and bright. 
Where our army is pitching its tents of white." 

As she spoke, by the little gate, again 

A rider drew his rein. 

Stain'd were the garments he wore. 

Torn was the banner he bore. 

All clotted o'er with gore ; 
Fleck'd with foam was his noble steed. 
Yet nothing the rider seemed to heed. 

For he was all intent, 

Upon one purpose bent ; 
And though there was, in his noble face, 
A look of triumph, I thought I could trace 

A tenderness born of woe 

In the voice so deep and low ; 



18 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

And I felt my color come and go, 
As I heard her quick-drawn^ gasping sigh, 
Though I dared not meet her earnest eye, 

My heart was beating so. 

"Victory is ours — and yet, 

We cannot soon forget. 
As proudly our battle-torn pennon waves. 
That 'neath its loved folds, are a thousand graves ; 
Under its shelter, are sleeping its braves, 
AVhose glorious suns on the land have set. 
While yet it teas hut day ;" — 
Thus spoke the warrior in gray. 

"Ere I give the horse the rein, 

And on to the ranks again, 
I must give this tiny circlet of gold. 
It comes from my fallen leader bold ; 

He said, that whoe'er might wait. 

At eve by the little gate. 
Would carry it with a tender care 
To the maiden with the sunlit hair, — 
The Lily of the Valley fair. 

"It was just in the battle's height. 

In the thickest of the fight, 
While leading us on with his face to the foe, 
In the hour of the day's meridian glow ; 



MARGIE AND I. 19 

He fell in the hour of las pride, 

Swept down in the battle's tide, 
In the glory of Ms day " : — 
Then the warrior turned from the wicket away. 

I laid in her little hand 

The tiny, golden band ; 
The signet of love it was, that first 
'Neath the sun of Joy into being burst ; 
By its smile of summer 'twas fondly nurs'd, 

Gathering autumnal glow 

From the shadow of coming woe. 

Baring its head to the winter snow. 

Pale was the shadowy face ; 

Drooping, the form of grace ; 
Quench'd was the hope in the clear blue eye, 
As it lifted its glance to the starlit sky. 
Breathing to joy its tearless good-bye : 

While on my ear there fell 

The chime of the village bell, 

The joy of a triumphing nation to tell. 

"Sister, how chill, how cold 

Is this little circlet of gold," 
Said the sad, sweet voice^ as I tried to enfold 

The dear form to my throbbing heart, 

Comfort to impart ; 
But she onlv shrank from mv arms with a start : — 



20 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

"No^ Sister I 'tis pain too deep, 

E'en for the eye to weep ; 
There are griefs that are the abiding guest 
Of the inmost depths of the aching breast ; 

The tear that softly flows 

Is the solace of gentler woes ; 
But mine is a sorrow, whose cheerless night 
Hath not a single star, whose light 

Upon the darkness grows. 

"Not till with bugle loud 

Come the victorious crowd, 
With martial music and solemn mirth, 
Recording in triumph the glorious birth 
Of a nation amid the kingdoms of earth, 
Whose banner floats over a stream, whose tide 
Hath gathered strength, and hath garnered pride 
From the blood of her noble sons, who died 
To uphold the pennon gory 
On the breast of that River of Glory ; 

" Will I bow my head and weep 

O'er his calm and dreamless sleep ; 
Knowing the blood, that he joy'd to shed, 
Is a drop in the nation's chalice red : 

Then may the tear-dim'd eye 

Search in the Southern sky 

For the arch of the bow of promise on High. 



MARGIE AND I. 21 

''All ! now I see again 

The tented battle-plain ; 
But the Battle of Life for Mm is o'er, 
On his head earth's storms shall break no more : 

He fell at duty's post ; — 

And now, with the heavenly host. 
He hath pitch'd his tent on a fairer shore." 

* _ * * * * * 

ifi if -^ -^ -^ if. 

We stood by the little gate 

No more, in the shadow to wait ; 
For, like the spray of Jessamine fair, 
That droop'd ere noon in her shining hair, 

Slie faded slowly away. 

In the morning of her day^ 

Nor waited tor the twilight gray. 

* * * >is * * 

''Margie, the night is past, 

The day is breaking fast : 
Shall I raise your head that the sunshine bright 
May break on your vision with glorious light? 

I have open'd the casement wide. 

That the early day may glide 
Into your chamber with steps so light, 
Chasing away the gloom of night :" 

Thus I spoke as I stood by her bed, 

And on my breast, pillow'd her head. 



22 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

"Sister, my night is pass'd ; 

My day is breaking fast : 
Angels have taught me to watch and weep, 
Angels are hushing me now to sleep, 
Angels around me their vigils keep ; 

And there, on the other shore, 

Is the voice, and the smile, and the face of yore. 

"You have watch'd with me through the night, 

And now at the portals bright 

Of the Heavenly City of light, 
"We must clasp our hands in a fond good-bye ; 
For I go to the realms of bliss on High, 
Where Hope and Joy can never die ; 

And when I see you stand. 

Clad in white %Yith the angel band^ 

We shall clasp our hands in a better land. 

"You know how we used to Avait 
With clasp'd hands at the little gate, 

'Neath summer's sun and winter's snow. 

To see the dear Army come and go ; 

Till the sun of Joy shed its last bright glow, 
And then set in my earthly skies, 
No more on my sight to rise. 
Till in Heaven I open these weary eyes." 

The voice was low and weak. 
The pale lips scarce could speak. 



MARGIE AND I. 23 

Ashy the hue of her cheek ; 
And the marble brow that I kiss'd was so chill, 
It sent to my aching heart a thrill ; 
And the little hand in mine had grown cold, 

Yet the eyes grew strangely bright, 

As though some long looked-for light 

Had gladdened their failing sight — 
Some blessed vision belov'd of old ; 
And the finger small, with its circlet of gold. 

Pointed upward all the while ; 

And the face wore its tender smile : 
Then again there fell on my listening ear 
The tones of her voice so soft and clear ; — 

"Ah ! can it really be. 

Thou art waiting, Belov'd, for me, 

And not I, waiting for thee ? 
And is it for me thou art waiting now ? 
I know thee^ though radiance gilds thy brow — 
I know thee, Belov'd ; I feel it is thou : 

And wilt thou clasp my hand. 

And shall we together stand 

Children, at home in our Father's land? 

'•'Is it thou, Belov'd ? dost thou wait, 
AVith thy hand on the pearly gate ? 
It was /who watch'd by the wicket for thee, 
As I stood 'neath the shade of the old oak tree ; 
And now it is thou, who art watching for me. 



24 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY *, OR, 

Under the shade of trees, on whose green, 

The snow of winter is never seen ; 
And instead of the waters of Strife, 
We shall freely drink of the River of Life." 

There was silence all around, 

A stillness most profound, 

Only broken by the sound 
Of each long-drawn sigh, that seemed to say 
To my aching heart, "■ I am passing aioay ;" 
While the drooping head on my bosom lay. 

Like a lily pure and white, 

With the golden hair of light 

Forming a halo of glory bright. 

Yet, vain were the arms of Love 

To hold you, my 31argie, my dove ; 
Though I held you in mine with Grief's wild power. 
In that long, agonizing hour — 
And my night was so dark, I seemed not to know 
That in your sky was the roseate glow 

Of a better and brighter day, 

Which before you, my Darling, lay. 

From the quiet chamber, there 

Rose the soft, subdued voice of prayer ; 

But my soul was too full of despair — 

My heart was too full of anguish to pray, 

And my hand I could only softly lay 



MARGIE AND I. 25 

On her beautiful golden hair ; 
I only felt that the sweetest tone, 
The clearest sound ray ear had known, 

Was hush'd forever more. 

And the music of my life was o'er. 

Just as through all the room, 

The sunshine dispelled night's gloom, 
Her gentle spirit passed away — 
Pass'd to the realms of endless day ; 
For the angels open'd the portals bright, 
And far from the shades of Sorrow's night, 
She has pass'd 'neath the jeweled archway bright, 
And in Heaven is blooming our Lily white ; 

For Margie has passed from the Valley of Strife, 

To the Hills of Eternal Life. 

When pitying voices said, 
"Your Valley Lily is dead," 

As she droop'd on my breast her head, 
I heeded not the kindly tear ; 
I only felt that the one most dear 

Had pass'd from my lonely life, 

In the midst of anguish and strife, 
And left it desolate and drear. 

Yet I would not have kept you here 
In this world so dark, so drear ; 

3' 



26 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ; OR, 

Thougli SO much of sunshine with you has pass'cl, 
That a long, dark shade o'er my life is cast ; 
Oh ! how shall I tread Life's mystical aisles, 
Without the light of your tender smiles ? 
And how shall I alone stand 
In our dark, o'ershadowed land, 
Without the clasp of your little hand ? 

Margie ! I cannot tell 

How it was that you loved me so well ; 
AVhy it was that your eyes beam'd with a new light 
Whenever I met their longing sight ; 
Even after Sorrow's nipping blight 

Had chased the sweet rose from your cheek, 

And had taught your voice to speak 

In tones so soft and weak. 

Margie, your little grave, 

O'er which the willows wave, 
Where the valley lilies from long leaves peep,, 
Is a beautiful place for my darling to sleep : 

And though your name so dear 

Is graven on no marble here, 

In golden letters it shall appear 
In the chronicles the angels keep. 

Margie has reach' d that world, 
Whose banners are never furl'd ; 



MARGIE AND I. ' 2T 

For the holy angels never cease 
To wave them before the Prince of Peace: 
And they do not hunger nor thirst any more, 
When they reach that beautiful heavenly shore ; 
And all tears are wiped away 
From eyes that unclose to a perfect day. 

And Jam treading here 

This lower, darker sphere ; 
My eyes are blinded by many tears, — 
By the mist and rain of gathering fears, 
As they look through the twilight of coming years: 

Yet, with the morning will come 

A glimpse of the far off dome. 

And the glittering spires of my heavenly home. 

The discord of war is o'er — 

The bugle is heard no more ; 
But oh ! I am glad that her little feet 

Are treading Eternity's shore — 
That she walks with angels the golden street,. 
Tuning her harp to Heaven's music sweet — 

That in the courts above. 

In the light of immortal love, 
She has learned His blessed Will, 
Who speaks to the spirit_, — '^ Peace — he still."' 



A I M E E . 

How tlic moon-beams softly quiver 
On the clear, untroubled river. 

Just as they did, years ago : 
And the breeze the grass is lilting. 
And the light is softly shifting, 

Where the water lilies grow ; 

And the little pathway yonder 

Is where we were wont to wander- — 

Darling, bright Aimee, and I, 
While a thousand ffincies blending, 
Brightness to the scene were lending, 

In those happy days gone by. 



Radiant was each lovely I'eature 
Of that fair, angelic creature — 

Oh ! I seem to see her now ; 
Eyes in their soft depths revealing 
A sweet fount of untouch'd feeling — 

And the pure, unshadow'd brow 



AIMEE. 29 

Like a snowy lily slender, 
Something beautiful and tender, 

Was the graceful, willowy form : 
-Growing daily to me dearer, 
I would spell-bound linger near her, 

Willing captive to the charm. 

Like the bird's soft wood-note rinfjino;, 
Sweetly on the green bough singing, 

Was the music of her voice ; 
And I listen'd, weary never. 
Feeling that I could forever 

In her ]3resence sweet rejoice. 

Often, as I walk'd beside her. 
Just along the way to guide her, 

I would take her little hand ; 
And we, hand in hand, together, 
Went forth in the bright spring weather, 

That was gladdening all the land. 

Softly the small fingers pressing, 
Oft I breathed a whisper'd blessing 

O'er that little hand in mine ; 
Thinking I could never leave her, 
Fearing lest a icord might grieve her, 

Deemins; her as half divine : 



30 AIMEE. 

And in our pnie youth we wonder'd 
If two hearts were ever sunder'd, 

That were knit so close as ours ; 
While there glearn'd, in mute appealing, 
One tear down the soft cheek stealing, 

Just as dew falls on the flowers. 

When I told the glorious story 

Of the landj whose fame, whose glory 

Should extend from sea to sea ; 
While the little fingers tremhling 
Shaded the soft eyes, dissembling 

What she felt, she said to me ; — 

'' All in life of light, or beauty, 
Is made up in doing duty : 

And even if I could^ or might, 
Though I might in secret weep you, 
I would never try to keep you 

From the patli of truth and right." 

"Promise me, Aimee, that never 
Auirht shall come between to sever 

These two hearts made one by love." 
"No, I never will Ibrget you — 
Never cease, love, to regret you ; — 
Angels o-nard us from above." 



ALMEE. 31 

Thus, 'twas almvost broken liearted, 
That Ainiee and I once parted, 

Hoping still to meet again ; 
And the touch of those dear fingers, 
In my palm still softly lingers, 

Just as lovinglv as then. 



I have seen a sun set brightly 
On a land with sons so knightly, 

That, througli many years to come. 
Though strange soil their feet are pressing, 
There shall be a whisper'd blessing 

For the patriots far from home. 

Yet, though that dear pennon ever 
May be folded, though it never 

To the breeze may float again ; 
Stilly there is one hope to guide me ; 
One who used to stand beside me — 

Will she still be mine as then ? 



* 



Home again ! — no more the rattle 
Of the grape and shot in battle ; 

Silent is the cannon's roar. 
Ah ! perchance, Aimee may meet me, 
Her sweet, answering eyes will greet me 

In the pathway as of yore. 



32 AIMEE. 

Ah ! perhaps the cokl winds hind her 
To her home ; there I shall find her : — 

There, its white walls rise in view I 
'Mid the wintry landscape gleaming — 
Ah ! I see the old lights heaming — 

Yes, I know Aimee is true. 

Soft the wicket latch I lifted, 

While the snow-flakes round me drifted ; 

Surely I shall see her now. 
In the silence still I waited. 
Yet my cowardice I hated, 

And the snow fell on my hrow. 

Through the crimson window curtain 
Shone the fire-light, soft, uncertain : 

And, as though 'twas half a sin, 
Up the porch steps, soft I glided. 
To the curtain'd casement guided 

By the fire-light from within. 



Then, with many a whisper'd hlessing, 
My tired hrow in silence pressing 

'Gainst the frosted window-pane ; 
I looked in with eyes so tveary, 
And with heart so lone and dreary, 

Seeking for my love again. 



AIMEE. 33' 



In the fire-light softly rocking, 
With a little half-knit stocking, 

Sat her own, her very self; 
And the needles went on clicking, 
And the clock kept ticking, ticking 

On the little mantel-shelf. 



While upon the carjjct playing, 

Sat a child, his small hands straying' 

'Mid the soft folds of her dress ; 
And, from time to time, the stocking 
Was laid down, she ceased the rocking, 

On his brow a kiss to press. 

Then when he grew tired of sittins: 
On the rug, she laid the knitting 
On the little stand close by ; 
And with tender care she laid him 
On her lap, then softly bade him, — 
""'Go to sleep, nor ever cry." 

Ah ! some little one forsaken, 
Whom her tender care hath taken 

Out of want and penury. 
Out of poverty and sadness, — 
To the warmth and to the gladness 

Of her home of luxury. 



34 AI.MEE. 

Oh ! I cannot be mistaken, 

Though this trembling form seems shaken 

Like some poor, weak, frighten'd thing; 
For, when I past hopes remember, 
I seem entering life's December 

Without any coming Spring. 

If Aimee be false ! — yet never 
Will I doubt her ; she was ever 

True, and beautiful, and fair : 
It may be her little brother 
That she cradles, as a mother, 

With her brow upon his hair. 

Ah ! upon her senses stealing, 
Comes that quick, perceptive feeling, 

That on her is fix'd an eye ; 
And that, just when most protected 
By the quiet, unexpected, 

Some one else is standing by. 

Quickly in the fire-light starting. 
One quick glance around her darting, 

On the rug she lays the child ; 
And the lire-liglit on the faces 
Shows a symmetry of graces. 

Or it is my fancy wild. 



(( 



AIMEE. 35 

Back and forth her fair form passes ; 
Then, as though the Avindow glasses 

Had attracted her, and caus'd 
Those fix'd eyes and tight-clasp'd fingers;^ 
Who is that, without, that lingers?" 

Said Aiinee's sweet voice, and paus'd. 



Then, as though without the power, 
Even of utterance in that hour, 

I stood in the snow and rain : — 
^' 'Tis because I feel so lonely ; 
Surely, 'tis a 'phantom only," 

Said the same dear voice again. 

''Yet^ 'tis strange it keeps recurring, 
With such power my spirit stirring, 

When so many years have fled : 
Strange ! the night seems to discover 
The wan face of my old lover, 

Who, ere this, perhaps is dead. 

" Strange ! these weird, distracting fancies ; 
But whene'er I turn my glances 

To that window pane, I see 
Eyes, that to my heart brought gladness, 
Which now only waken sadness, 

Ever looking: in at me. 



36 AIMKE. 

" Strange ! Yet I cannot forget him ; 
Sometimes, when alone, regret him : — • 

Yet we are the things of change ; 
And when they our lives encumber^ 
We hush Youth's first hopes to slumber 

Strange ! oh ! no, it is not sti^ange. 



" Oh ! but those are living features ; 
One of those poor, wandering creatures 

Without any place of rest ! — 
Surely, this poor, homeless stranger 
To my home can bring no danger, 
He shall be my humble guest. 

'''Though my door is barred securely, 
I will open to him, surely " ; — 

In a moment more, she stood 
In the doorway, lovely, tender ; 
Every charm did nature lend her ; 

Beautiful, and true, and good! 

''Poor, tir'd stranger, witliout dwelling, 
Your wan face your tale is telling, 

You are hungry, cold, and tir'd ; 
You need food and warmth, and never 
Will I send you empty ever : — 

Have I guess'd what you desired?" — 



AIMEE. 37 

" Yes, fair lady, I have onlj 
These poor rags, and weary, lonely, 

I am hungry, tir'd and cold : 
I have pass'd through many a battle, 
Heard the shot around me rattle, 

Side by side with warriors bold." 

"Ah ! shake off the snow-flakes hoary, 
And come in and tell your story 

By the fire-side warm and bright ; 
And my darling's eyes will glisten^ 
When I wake him up to listen 
To your legends of the fight." 

" Aimee I before I enter. 
Ere I dare become the centre 

Of your little household band, 
Ere I speak of what befell me, — 
Aimee ! belov'd one ! tell me, — 

Can I take, that little hand?" 



Casting one wild glance of horror 
At the anguish and the sorrow. 

That I could not well repress ; 
From the lovely lips half parted 
Burst a cry, as back she started 

From the face of wretchedness, 



38 AIM^E. 

In a moment more, each feature 
Of that queenly, heauteous creature 

Was the seat of regal pride : — 
"You must leave me, you must never 
Cross this sacred threshold ever — 

I became another s bride !" 



" Aimee ! so false, so charming ! 
Even now my soul disarming 

By the magic of your voice ; 
It was you who whisper'd, never 
Aught should part us, we should ever 

In each other's love rejoice. 

"You are like a fair child straying 
On the sea-shore, idly playing 

With the breakers at your feet : 
Launching your small bark with gladness ; 
Recking little the wild madness. 

Where the waves and tempests meet : 

"Looking up with childish wonder. 
As you hear afar the thunder 

Of the desolating storm ; 
Happy at the shelter'd landing, 
Caring not what ships are stranding, 

So your bark is safe from harm. 



AIMEE. 



^'I am like the far-off vessel 
That, alone, must fiercely wrestle 

With each lashing, foam-clad wave ; 
In the mad confusion sharing. 
Little recking, little caring 

Where I find a watery grave. 

"For these eyes have ceas'd from turnino- 
Toward the light once brightly burning, 

Tended by a well-lov'd hand ; 
For that flame is now extinguish'd, 
And no light-house is distinguish'd 

By the sailor far from land. 

"I am glad that you are standing 
At the safe, the sheltered landing. 

Though I am on breakers cast : 
That for you bright lights are gleaming, 
Sunshine o'er your life is streaming. 

Though my ship goes down, at last. 

"0 Aimee ! the light thus faded 
From my life, so dark hath made it. 

That I will go forward now ; 
Never more in safety resting — 
Ever more the wild storm breastins; — 

With Times snow-flakes on my brow. 



40 AIMEE. 

"Oh ! the vow so lightly broken ! 
Oh ! the words so softly spoken ! 

Echoing ever in my ear ; 
With a Aveight of untold sorrow, 
I will go forth on the morrow — ■ 

On the morrow, wint'ry, drear. 

"Oh ! that_, 'neath my once proud pennon, 
'Mid the roar of answering cannon, 

I liad fallen in the strife ; 
Nor, come home to feel the arrow, 
That the very soul can harrow, 

Poisoning its sweet springs of life. 

"Close the door, Aimee, securely 
Draw the bolt ; yet never, surely. 
Will I cross the light again : 
Yes, resume the quiet rocking, 
Take the little half-knit stocking ; 
No one s face is at the pane. 



I will rest me 'neath yon willow. 
With the snow-drift for my pillow. 

Heeding not the falling snow ; 
For the storm is wildly sweeping, 
And the snow-flakes thickly heaping, 

Where the water-lilies grow. 



AIMEE. 41 

Now the moonbeams coldly quiver 
On the icy, snow-clad river^ 

And upon the frozen ground ; 
And I feel an icy casing, 
My poor heart now interlacing ; 

Yes, 'tis winter all around. 

Ah ! the moonbeams sharply quiver, 
And I feel a pain, a shiver, 

As around my eyes I cast ; 
And although I do forgive her, 
From my heart, as from that river, 

Ah ! Aimee, the spring has pass'd. 




THE BROKEN CHORD. 




E used to sing the Evening Hymn, 
As 'round the cottage fire, 
We gathered just before the hour 
For households to retire. 



Our Lucy in the fire-light sat, 
With softly braided hair, 

And waken 'd from the organ's keys 
A rich, melodious air. 

Her features delicate and fair 
Were lighted by a smile, 

Just as the glowing sunshine gilds 
A beauteous scene, the while. 



Our dark-hair'd Alice used to take 
The sweet soprano strain ; 

I know I ne'er shall hear on earth 
A sweeter sound a^ain. 



THE BROKEN CHORD. 43 

Our little May, Avith dimpled hand, 

Would brush away the hair 
That lay in little golden rings 

About her forehead fair. 

And, with a look of reverent awe 

Upon her childish face, 
Would_, at our gentle mother's knee. 

Take her accustom'd place ; 

While from her parted lips would gush 

An alto soft and low, 
As like an angel there she stood 

Just in the fire-light's glow : 

And Charley, standing just behind 
Our gray-hair'd father's chair. 

His chestnut ringlets mingling with 
The patriarch's silver'd hair, 

Would blend, with father's deep-toned base, 

His tenor rich and fine ; 
And all in one melodious chord. 

Our voices would combine. 

With little Nellie on her lap. 

Sat our old mammy dear. 
In the warm corner by the fire, 

Her place for many a year ; 



44 THE BROKEN CHORD. 

And looking at her children dear 
With eyes hy age grown dim, 

She rais'd her feeble, quivering voice, 
To chant the Evening Hymn. 

And as our mother touched the bell 
At the accustom 'd sound, 

With voices all attuned to prayer, 
The servants gather'd 'round. 

So many blessings crown'd each day, 
That as we sang, we felt 

Our voices should go up in praise, 
Before in prayer we knelt. 

'Twas thus, for many a year, the Chord 
Unbroken was, and clear. 

Because we miss'd no music tone, 
Familiar to our ear : 



Nor ever thought we, then, how soon 
The harmony would cease, 

We felt so happy and secure, 

In those briijht davs of Peace, 



THE BROKEN CHORD. 45 

First, Alice left the roof-tree's shade, 

Another home to grace, 
And tears would gather in our eyes 

To see her vacant place. 

We missed her music voice — and yet, 

We knew a sweeter strain 
Would waken in the love-lit bower, 

Where she, a queen, would reign. 

For well we know, the touch of Love 

A sweetness can impart, 
Whene'er it sweeps, with magic spell. 

The harp-strings of the heart. — 

Next, as we saw the rose begin 

To fade from Lucy's cheek. 
And mark'd, how her once buoyant step 

Grew, every day, more weak ; 

We sought for her a warmer clime, 

And oh ! we trusted, there 
Her cheeks might catch a roseate hue, 

'Neath Southern skies so fair. 

How many prayers went with the ship. 

That bore her from our sight ; 
And, in the deep-toned organ's stead,, 

Our sobs we heard, that night. 



46 THE BROKEN CHORD. 

She linger'd but a little while ; — 
The sweet Magnolia's breath 

And glowing Southern suns could not 
Keep off the chill of Death. 

Her fingers touch the golden strings 

Of an immortal lyre ; 
And now our minstrel sweet is one 

Of a Celestial choir. — 

Our Charley, 'mid the battle's roar, 
In youth's full flush of pride, 

Fell, in the thickest of the fight. 
Where many a hero died. 

The Cause has fallen too ; but I 
Had rather know t[iat he 

Was sleeping 'mid those honored dead, 
Than have him here with me. 

No banner, floating to the breeze, 
Above his sod may wave ; 

Yet not a Southern heart but feels 
It is a patriot's grave. 

Close kneeling by my father's side, 
His trembling hand in mine, 

I whisper'd how our Charley fell 
At Freedom's hallow'd shrine; 



THE BROKEN CHORD. , 4^\ 

And how, the bravest of the brave, 

He met his fate with joy, 
Bequeathing us his noble deeds, — 

Our bright-eyed, soldier boy ! 

A tear-drop, from his aged eye, 

Fell softly on my head ; 
Yet, as he smoothed my hair, in calm, 

Unbroken tones he said ; 

''When first I bade him go, my child, 

He said, with sparkling eye, — 
' I joy to live for my dear land. 
Or, if God wills, to die :' — 

'''And if I had another son, 

I'd give him, all the same : 
Glad am I that my noble boy 
Left an untarnish'd name. 

"But hush the Evening Hymn, my child ; 
We'll sing it never more: 
The notes may form a sweeter chord, 
Upon a fairer shore." — 

Our mother bowed her gentle head 

Beneath the waves of care ; 
And now, her blessed, weary feet 

Have reach'd a home more fair : 



48 THE BROKEN CHORD. 

And I am glad that she lias gone 

Where sorrow is unknown, 
Although she left my shadow'd life 

More desolate and lone. — 

The little one, with golden locks, 
Born for the sunshine bright, 

Droop'd her young head beneath the shade 
Of Sorrow's chilling night. 

'Twas in the autumn of the year, 

When Nature sets on fire 
Her forests with a magic torch, 

In glory to expire. 

I felt, as all the autumnal glow 
Charm'd my admiring eye, 

If Nature lives in beauty, oh ! 
She does know how to die ! 

She laid her little hand in mine, — 

Our darling little May, 
And whispered^ " Sing the Evening Hymn 

Before I go away." 

" Darling! you will miss the tones. 
That form'd the household chord ; 
Wait till you hear tliem chant above. 
In the presence of the Lord." 



THE BROKEN CHORD. 49i 

Death's stamp was on her hrow, and yet 
She said, in tones so clear, — 
" Yes, sing it once again, because 
I want to hear it, Dear : — 

^' And when the hymn comes to your mind, 
At closing of the day, 
You'll think, ' it was the last thing that 
I sang to little May.' " 

While yet the quivering, Broken Cliord 

Vibrated through the air, 
Her spirit, on the waves of sound, 

Pass'd to a Avorld more fair. 

Yes, thus it was that, one by one, 
Each music- tone was still'd: — 

Hush'd are the softest, sweetest notes 
That once our spirits thrill'd. 

The servants now are scattered far 

O'er many a distant plain ; 
The bell will summon them no more 

To evening prayer again. 

Now, when the evening shadows come, 

And Nel begins to weep, 
Old Mammy folds her in her arms 

And hushes her to sleep. 



50 THE BROKEN CHORD. 

She is a little fragile flower, 

Ujion whose drooping head, 
No warmth nor hrightness from the Sun 

Of Joy is ever shed. 

She hears no brother's gleeful laugh ; 

No playmates gay has she ; 
No sisters dear to pet and hiss. 

Excepting only me. 

No mother's kiss, at morn or night. 

Is ever to her given ; 
And she is yet too small to learn 

How bright it is in Heaven ; 

Though nightly, Mammy softly smooths 

The little curly head. 
And whispers, " Blessings on my pet ; 

Good angels guard her bed." — 

Those dear, rough hands ! how many paths 
They have with sweet flowers strown ! 

And all their noble acts of love. 
The world has never known. 

How many little feet tliey've turn'd, 

With such a tender care, 
From dangerous ways, to pleasant paths, 

With sunshine everv where! 



THE BROKEN CHORD. 51 

In after years, when fair young heads 
Were tired, and longed for rest, 

'Twas those dear hands that pillow 'd them 
So gently on her breast. 

Mammy ! friend of better days ! — 
And just as true in sorrow ! — 

What you arc, Mammy dear, to-day, 
We know you'll be, to-morrow. 

O Mammy ! your dark, wrinkled face 

Is dearer far to me. 
Than if it was the fairest thing 
The eye could ever see : 

For it is like a faded page 

Of dear old, well-read lore. 
Where oft we find a beauty, that 

We never saw before. 

'^' Never weary of well-doing," and 
From guile and malice free, 
We always felt, that it was well 
They called you. Charity." 

While you are cradling in your arms 

That little wearied form. 
Around me, in the darkening room, 

Is stealing twilight's charm. 



52 



THE BROKEN CHORD. 



And sitting in the firelight here_, 

31y Day of Joy grown dim ; 
Now that the Night of Grief has come, 

I'll chant an evening hymn. 

"Glory to Thee, my God, this night," 

(In shadows now I roam) 
"For all the hlessings of the light," 

For my once happy home. 

"Keep me, oh! keep me, King of kings !" 

Now that the day has gone, 
"Under the shadow of Thy wings," 

Till the Eternal Morn. 

"Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,'' 
For what His love hath given ; 

"Praise Him, all creatures here below " 
For the sweet hope of Heaven : 

" Praise Him above, angelic host !" 

Through ages scarce begun ; 
"Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost" — 
Eternal Three in One. 




AN ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 




HE knelt by the window, to catch the last 
Rays of the departing day, 
By which to read the letter that 
In her little fingers lay. 



The laughing lips had a sunny smile. 
And the eyes had a radiant joy ; 

And there was not a shadow on her face 
Its brightness to alloy. 

The sunshine of Hope was on her brow. 
And the twilight shade on her hair ; 

For her little feet had scarcely touch'd 
The threshold of womanhood fair. 



;Soon she read through the well-fiU'd sheet, 
For the writing was clear and plain ; 

And then she turn'd the pages white. 
And read them o'er airain : 



AN ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 

And when she could no longer see, 

She laid her forehead fair 
On the paper white, and gave herself up 

To castles in the air. 

Bright were the castles her fancy rear'd, 

In beautiful moulding cast ; 
For the light of the Fnture was on her life,. 

And not the shade of the Past. 

She heeded not the weary years 

That must pass, ere the Castle of Air 

Should become a sweet reality 
To the little dreamer there. 

Then lightly from the quiet room. 

With joyous steps she sped ; 
And the old halls waked to her ringing laughv 

And echoed her airy tread : 

And the circle of loving ones, who sat 
Round the fireside warm and bright, 

Made room, with a smile and a tender word,, 
For the joyous thing of light. 

****** 

Again, she sat in the quiet room, 

But not by the window now ; 
And the shadow of twilight was not so deep,. 

As the shadow u[)on her brow. 



AN ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 55 

She did not kneel by the window now, 

To read by the lading light ; 
But she sat on the carpet before the fire, 

And looked in the embers bright. 

She turned each page of lier bright young life, 

And read it o'er and o'er ; 
And often she found a tender word, 

She had not noted before. 

The light of Memory, o'er each page. 

Threw a halo pure and soft, 
And revealed a hidden beauty, though 

She had read the pages oft. 

The light of the Future had fled before 

The shadow of the Past ; 
And the sunshine of Joy, in the fair young face 

By clouds was overcast. 

'Twas twiligJit o'er the lovely face ; 

Yet a hazy light was there, 
That told how bright was the Morning of Jo?/, 

Before the Evening of Care. 

She did not hear, through the quiet room, 

The noiseless footsteps glide ; 
Nor know, as she looked in the smouldering fire, 

An Angel stood by her side. 



56 AN ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 

She was counting; the treasures, one by one, 
That the hand of Death had riven ; 

But she did not call to mind that they 
Were garner'd up in Heaven. 

Mournful, yet sweet, was the smile on her lips ,-, 

Dewy, the haze in her eyes : 
She only felt that 'twas night on the earth ; 

But saw not the stars in the skies. 

Grave, yet sweet, was the tender glance, 

Cast on the drooping head ; 
While, as though to protect from the touch of 
harm. 

The wings were over her spread. 

As the rustle of the Angel's wings, 

Above her head she heard, 
She trembled and started timidly, 

Like a poor, frighten'd bird : 

For the ftice was one she had seen before, 
Though with a new light it gleam'd ; 

And immortal love, through the earnest eyes. 
In Heavenly radiance stream'd. 

Then the Angel spoke in sweet, feeling words 
To earth's weary, toil-worn child ; 

While at the sound of that soothing voice, 
She lifted her head and smiled : — 



AX ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 57 

'' Why do you count, o'er and o'er again, 
The leaves of Hope's wither'd flowers? 
Know you not, Dearest, you'll find them again 
In the blossoms of HeaA'en's sweet bowers? 

•'Why do you gather the broken threads 
Of Earth's fabric of joy, grown old? 
You've a robe of Celestial purity, 
All s})angled o'er with gold. 

"Why do you clasp at the sunbeam bright, 
That cross'd, for a moment, your way? 
There's a flood of immortal, undim'd light 
That gladdens the Heavenly day. 

"The most beautiful things you have treasured 
here 
And vainly guarded. Love, 
You will find all garnered safely up 
In a golden sheaf Above. 

"Oft, as you sit at the close of day, 

With your brow resting on your hand, 
You do not know it, and yet at your side, 
In the guise of an angel I stand. 

"Wherever your feet may tread, Belov'd ; 
Whatever may be your lot, 
A. Guardian Angel is at your side, 

Though the world may know it not. 

G 



58 AN ANGEL WAS AT HER SIDE. 

"There's a harp that waits for your fingers, Dear» 
Its golden strings to thread ; 
And the angels are weaving vou shining winss ; 
And a crown hangs over your head." — 

As the Angel spoke, the voice and look 
Touch'd the fount of unshed tears ; 

And she wept, as she had not done before 
Through many weary years. 

Then the Angel, stooping, gathered up 

The shining tears, as they fell ; 
And in his hands, to a shower of pearls. 

They were turned, by some magic spell. 

''I will carry them back to Heaven," he said,. 
"They will shine with a beauty rare, 
And add a radiance soft and pure 

To the crown that is waiting you there. 

" As the angels will need some threads of gold ; 
I will take two shining curls :" — ■ 
And he jiass'd away with the ringlets bright^ 
And the beautiful shower of pearls. 

He had scattered the twilight shade, and left 

A radiance purer far ; 
For in her heart was the break of day — 

She had seen her morning star. 



AN AXGEL WAS AT UER SIDE. 59 

And when she pass'd ffoni the quiet room, 
To mix with the househohl band, 

The look of joy and light on her face 
They could not understand : 

They joy'd to see the smile of light, 
For she was their hope and pride ; 

But they knew not that in the twilight dim. 
An angel had stood by her side. 

And as through the busy haunts of life, 

She threaded her way along. 
They never knew that, all unseen 

By earth's giddy, heedless throng; 

In the quiet chamber, or where'er 

Her footsteps soft might glide. 
In robes of white — with shining Aviugs — 

An Angel luas at her Side. 





THE MUTE'S PRAYER. 




ATHER, Thy hand divine hath closed 
these lips of mine, 
Speaking, '■'Peace! he still ;" 
And yet I know this silent cloud of Thine- 
Hides Thy blest will. 

Silence is on my life ; 
I hear no sounds of strife, 
With angry discord rife : — 
Father, the silence with Thy presence fill. 

No soft, sweet sound hath peal'd on what Thy love 
hath seal'd, — 
The untouch'd organ of my ear ; 
No wave of sound the music hath reveal'd, 
That others hear : 

The song of no sweet bird 
The silent chord hath stirr'd ; 
No music have I heard. 
Save what Thou wliisjierest to me, Father dear. 



THE mute's prayer. 61 

I see the fingers stray over the chords, each day ; 

And faces brighten 'neath the spell : 
And when I see them put the harp away, 
I ask, hut none can tell, 

What gave the cheek its glow — 
What 'twas that moved tliem so ; 
And oh ! I long to know 
The magic of the power they love so well. 



The half-closed coral doors, through which sweet 
music pours. 
Greet me on faces dear ; 
And from the open portals ever flows 
Music that others hear — 

Music to me unknown ; 
And I am all alone. 
Save wlien Thou, hlessed Lord of life, art near. 



Yet, Father, I can see what thou hast made for me, 

Even, dear Lord, each flower — 
The little cup from which the busy hee 
Sips his sweet meal, each hour : 
And I can mark the flight 
Of the bird to yon height. 
In the warm sunshine bright — 
The sunshine, which is the earth's golden dower. 



G2 THE mute's ruAYEu. 

I can look up at night, to eacli soft star of light — 

Those candles of Thy Temple fair ; 
And I can mark, how beautiful and bright 
They shine up there : 

Those waxen tapers prove 
Lights of Thy Heavenly love, 
Which angels from Above 
Keep trim'd and burning with such wondrous 
care. 

When the soft, rosy flashy, the day's sweet maiden 
blush, 
Paints Morning's fair cheek ; and the Sun, 
Over the stillness, and the nightly hush, 
His wooing hath begun ; 

I can lift up my head. 
With reverent love and dread, 
To catch the dew-drops shed 
Out of Thy Heavenly chalice, one by one. 

Yes, Father_, I will be content to lean on Thee, 
Waiting to hear Thee say — 
" Thou, faithful child, upon thy lips let Me 
My finger lay" — 

And Thou, whose mercy kind 
Gave sight unto the blind, 
My closed lips shall unbind. 
And Thou wilt touch th' closed organ of my ear, 
A7id I shall hear Thee, speaking, Father dear. 



A SOUTHERN PICTURE. 




HE summer sun was slanting doAvn, 
The glorious Avestern sky, 
And as I paused to mark his way, 
A little child pass'd by. 



All tatter'd was the threadbare frock 
The little wanderer Avore ; 

And in lier features and her dress 
The marks of want she bore : 

And in the place of hat and veil, 
The curls of waving hair 

Shaded the face, and draperied 
The waxen shoulders fair. 



They form'd a frame of gold to case 
The picture, wondrous sweet, 

Of features delicate and fiiir 
The eve delights to meet. 



64 ^ A SOUTHERN PICTURE. 

"The basket that you carry now 

Is full of sweet, fair flowers ; 
You filled it with these blossoms gay, 
To wile away the hours ?" 

'Twas thus I spoke as^ on her head, 
I laid my hand^ and smiled ; 

My heart was strangely drawn unto 
This little stranger child. 

"I have not time to play," she said ; 
' '■ We have so much to do ; 
I gather' d them where I was sure 
The sweetest wild flowers grew. 

"I put them on my father's grave ; 
The place is very near : 
When strangers see the flowers, they'll know 
My father's grave is here. 

" Papa would take my hand, and walk 
In the little wood close by. 
And point the wild flowers out to me, 
Whene'er they met his eye. 

" 'The flowers that in the garden grow, 
We tend iVoni morn till even ; 
But these sweet flowers planted are 
By the kind hand of Heaven .•' 



A SOUTH ERX PICTURE. ' 6j 

" 'Twas thus he spoke ; and now I know 
He'd rather have these flowers 
From the green woods, than blossoms ftiir 
From cultivated bowers. 

'• ^Yhen last he kiss'd us at the door, 
Dressed in his suit of Gray ; 
And prayed God bless us, all the time 
That he might be away ; 

*'I laid some wild flowers in his hand, 
I did not like to try 
To speak, because I was afraid 
That I should only cry ; 

" And Mother whispered, ' Dora, love^ 
'Twill grieve your father dear, 
If, just before he goes^ he sees 
In your blue eyes a tear ; 

" ' For we must bravely say good-bye^ 
When Father goes away ; 
I am the ivi/e, and you the cJiUd 
Of one who wears the Gray.' — • 

" And often, sitting on her knee. 

She told how, brave and true, 
Dear Father met and fouglit the foe^ 
Nor thought of danger knew. 



■66 A SOUTIIERX PICTURE. 

""I thought, when he came home again, 
I'd meet him at the door 
With sweeter wild flowers, than he e'er 
Had looked upon before. 

" The long, long summer days pass'd hy, 
But oh ! I watch'd, in vain ; 
We waited, but his shadow dear 
Ne'er cross 'd the door again. 

" They brought him back to lay him there 
With the Confederate dead, 
Whose blood, for country and for home 
And liherhj was shed. 

-'' There's where I'm going ; if you'll come, 
I'll show the place to you" — 
And as she spoke, she raised to mine 
Her wondrous eyes of blue. 

I followed close the little form. 

That through the gate-way led 

Then paus'd to contemplate, with awe 
The City of the Dead. 

Here was a sleeping army, here 
In dreamless rest they lay ; 

They bivoiiac'd upon this plain. 
At the closinf!; of their day. 



A SOUTHERN PICTURE. 6T 

The little voice grew sadder still, 

As, dashing off a tear, 
She pointed to a mound, and said, 

" My lather's grave is here. 

''You see, there's just this plank to mark 
Where my dear father sleeps ; 
'Tis here that Mother comes at night. 
And in the darkness weeps. 

" She does not know it, hut I come, 
And sit me down right near ; 
I cannot bear to stay away. 

My father's grave is here. 

" All through her hair are silver threads , 
And pale and thin her face ; 
And very soon they'll make for her 
By Father's side a place : 

"And then, I'm sure, our blessed Lord 

Will say in accents mild, 
' Come, enter in the golden gate. 

Poor little lonely child.' 

" And when I pass the portals bright, 
My father will be there, 
To kiss my brow, and lovingly 
To smooth away my hair. 



68 



A SOUTHERN PICTURE. 



'' My mother both my hands will take 
In her's^ and gently say, 

' My Dora, let us welcome you 
To the Eternal Day.' 

^' If any wild flowers grow in Heaven, 
On the Celestial Plain, 
Close holding to my father's hand, 
I'll gather them again. 

'' And then I will not have to tread 
This well-worn path so dear ; 
For in Heaven's joy, I shall forget 
3Iy father s grave is here." 




LOOKING HEAVENWARD. 



OTHER, the night is dark, I feel alone ; 
The star of Hope^ which on my young 

life shone, 
Has set in darkness, and I feel afraid_, 
As I look out upon the night's cold shade, 

And feel my light gone out, Mother. 




Daughter^ Hope is our morning star so bright ; 
But purer, holier, rises on our night 
The light of Faith, the evening star, whose ray 
Shines brighter, for the shades that round it lay ; 
Thy day-star shines on High, Daughter. 



Mother, all through the day, as in a dream, 
I do perform the little acts that seem 
The doings of another_, and I feel 
A loneliness and sadness o'er me steal, 

That shuts the sunlight out, Mother. 



70 LOOKING HEAVENWARD. 

Daughter^ if bless' d by prayer^ each act of love 
Is as a jewel in the crown Above, 
Which waits thee on that glorious, sunlit shore, 
Where shades and darkness visit us no more, 

And where thy sunshine is, Daughter, 

Mother, if I wander through the lovely vale, 
The grass, and flowers, and all things seem to pale^ 
When viewed by eyes so often dim'd by tears. 
That they seem blinded by the fllni of years ; 
And earth is very dark, Mother. 

Daughter, Celestial flowers forever bloom 
In Heavenly gardens, where no touch of gloom 
Can mar their beauty ; tears are wiped away 
From eyes that open to a cloudless day ; 

And Heaven is very bright, Daughter. 

Mother, whene'er I do sit down to think 
Of the bright chain of joys that, link by link, 
Has given way, 'neath the iron hand of Care, 
It seems as if I see, written every where, 

" How fleeting are earth's joys," Mother. 

Daughter^ some links, that formed an earthly chain. 

May be, more beautifully, clasped, again, 

In a bright circlet of Immortal bliss, 

Such as ne'er gilds a transient life like this ; 

For lasting are Heaven's joys, Daughter. 



LOOKING HEAVENWARD. 71 

Mother, when music greets my ear, 'tis rife 

With contrast to the discord of a life, 

From whose hushed harp the sweetest chord is 

taken, 
Amid whose broken strings no hand can waken 
What once was music sweet. Mother. 

Daughter, the music of this sphere below 
Is but an eclio of the notes that flow 
Through all Eternity, where harps and souls 
Are tuned to an immortal song that rolls 

In liquid waves of praise, Daughter, 

Mother, I will look up ; for from Above 
Shines down the sunlight of Eternal Love ; 
And at the golden City's pearly gate, 
I am content to sit me down, and wait 
Till I can enter in. Mother. 

Daughter, remember she, whose loving heart 
Ke^jt closest to her Lord, the better part 
Had chosen ; and Avith resignation sweet, 
Like her, sit meekly at the Saviour's feet, 

And learn His blessed will. Daughter. 

Mother^ I will look Heavenward, for I know 
That the whole western sky is all aglow, 
Just ere the twilight wraps in shade the land : 
I will clasp, trustingly, the unseen Hand, 

And go on, Looking Heavenward, Mother. 




i^JSOtKm^ 



MUSINGS. 




ACK again, back again to the sweet past 
Are the glances of Memory tenderly cast ; 
Though they search through a forest 
with leaves, all aglow 
With the varied tints of life's autumn, we know 
The eyes of fond Memory search not in vain ; 
They will find the sweet flowers of life's spring- 
time again. 

Beautiful Valley of Youth, all so bright ! — 
Her rivers, clear mirrors that reflect back the light, 
Whose waters of gladness make music ; and high 
Her Mountains of Hope lift themselves to the sky: 
What matter if on the tall peaks lies the snow ? 
We feel not its coldness ; we see but its glow. 

Wait till up the toilsome pathway we climb, 
Determined to reach the bright summits sublime ; 
How tedious the journey, how iveary, how steep ; 
We pant — but press onward, though wild winds 
o'er us sweep ; 



MUSINGS. 16 

Now clouds, that were gorgeous in purple and gold, 
In their chilly embrace the poor traveller infold : 

Or perchance, the bright flowers of the Valley allure 
With their soft-tinted petals and perfume so pure ; 
We clasp them to feel but the prick of the thorn^ 
To see the corolla all scattered and gone ; 
And, bereft of its beautiful petals, we stand 
With only the poor, drooping stem in our hand. 

It may be we are wiled by the cool, pleasant shade 
And soft, vapory mist to her green, quiet glade ; 
Onward, still onward, our footsteps we press, 
Till we find ourselves lost in a damp wilderness, 
Where the mist is a rain, and the cool shades are 

fears ; 
And we find ourselves deej) in the Valley of Tears. 

Cold is the wind that sweeps over our head ; 
Dark are the clouds of unspoken dread ; 
Crisp are the leaves that we crush 'neatli our feet ; 
Pale are the flowers, with their perfume so sweet : 
Onward ! and yet we know, by each chill breath. 
We are treading the Vale of the '^Shadoiv of Death." 

Onward ! jjress onicard! nor turn to the broad 
Flowery road, for it leads from the City of God: 
Keep to the narrow, the well-beaten path ; 
^or fear the wild burst of the Tempest of Wrath ; 



74 



MUSINGS. 



For a Hand, all unseen, clasps our own ; and the 

light 
Of Eternity's morning shall break on our sight. 

In the gardens of Heaven, Immortality's flowers 
Have no thorns, like these i'rail, drooping blossoms 

of ours ; 
And the Hills of Eternity, glorified, hlest, 
Have cool shades where the tired, Aveary spirit may 

rest; 
And the ever-green forests, where angels may rove, 
Have no shadows and mists, in that Country Above, 




DIXIE. 




DIXIE ! as I heard to-night, 
Your okl, familiar strain, 
For which young voices merrily 
Call'd, with glad bursts of childish glee^ 
A pleasure, mix'd with pain, 
Smote my heart, as so blithe and light, 
Arose the dear old strain. 

When first it reach' d my listening ear, 

'Twas the first cry of life, 
That heralded a new-born land, 
Where many a brave one tooh his stand,. 

To meet the coming strife ; 
It was the first sound, glad and clear — 

Sign of a nation's life : 



Light as the land of song and flowers,. 

W^here first its sweet voice found 
An answer in the Nation's heart. 
Until it was itself a part 

Of the triumphant sound, 
That, in the Spring-time's golden hours,. 

Responsive echoes found. 



) DIXIE. 

How many memories will live 

In Dixie, ever more — 
The under-tone of voices dear, 
That^ never more into the ear 

Their music soft will pour 
The sweetest, tenderest notes to give 

To Dixie, ever more. 

How many blessed hopes must die 

In Dixie, ever more — 
Sweet hopes ! whose soft, unclouded light 
Made darker still the coming night, 

Where all was bright before : 
Oh ! blessed hopes, deep buried, lie 

In Dixie, ever more ! 

I've seen the swiftly-flying feet 

Move gaily in the dance 
To Dixie's blithe and lightsome strain — 
A merry, heedless, joyous train ! 

Who never think, perchance ; 
" Oh ! is it well— oh ! is it meet 

To blend it in the dance ?" 

Ah ! many a noble, fearless train 

Kept time to Dixie's air, 
With glancing steel, with flashing eye ; 
Ready to live, or glad to die, 



DIXIE. 7T 

If only ever tliere 
Might float above a nation's slain, 
Triumphant, Dixie s air. 

How many brave hearts tlirob'd their last 

To Dixie's well-lov'd strain ! 
Hearts, that were just as glad and free, 
Whqn first they entered life, as ye, 

Who join the festal train — 
Dear hearts ! from Time's gray portals pass'd^ 

Attuned to Dixie's strain. 

How many eager footsteps were 

In Dixie's sweet tones lost — 
Bless'd feet ! whose lightest, softest fall 
Made music in the dear old hall, 

Which oft they gaily cross 'd — 
Siceet music ! dear to heart and ear, 

In Dixie ever lost ! 

joyous hearts ! dancing feet ! 

Stay but a moment more : 
Find other music blithe and gay ; 
For Dixie's keys are stain'd, for aye, 

With drops of human gore : 
It is a lay, too sad, too sweet, 

To dance to, ever more. 

A nation's hymns should never be 
The sport of idle mirth ; 



V8 DIXIE. 

For widow's moans and orphan's cries 
Unto avenging Heaven will rise, 

If brave, heroic worth 
Be drown 'd in heedless revelry, 

Or lost in idle mirth. 

And Dixie is the echo sweet 

Of a lost nation's life : 
It is the voice, whose music spell 
Such grand, heroic deeds can tell 

Of suffering and of strife — 
The echo of a heart's last heat — 

A nation s loaning life. 

Though blithe and gay the strain once was, 

'Tis consecrated now 
By the baj^tismal stream, that laves, 
In its regenerating waves, 

A natioii's infant brow : 
Yes, Dixie, chant of a Lost Cause, 

Is consecrated now. 




OUR ANGEL BOY. 




WAS long, long years ago, our God 
Bestowed on us our joy, 
And, choisest blessing of His love,. 
Gave us our Angel Boy. 



He came to us in the spring time bright. 
When the birds began to sing ; 

And the violets blue seemed playmates meet,. 
To sport with this child of spring. 

We draped his little dimpled limbs 

In snowy robes, that seemed 
Like the dress the holy angels wear, 

As the lisht in their white folds ffleamed. 



W^hen the waxen lids veiled the soft blue eyes,. 

It seemed to us, the while, 
As if 'neath the blush of a rose leaf slept 

The lio;ht of an ano-el's smile. 



80 OUR ANGEL BOY. 

And when we felt the warm, soft breath, 

As we kissed his lips so red ; 
'Twas as though an angel had paused on his "wing. 

The perfume of love to shed. 

The wavy locks of his shining hair, 

Where gleamed forth each golden thread, 

Like the crown the holy angels wear, 
Formed a halo about his head : 

And when he learned to lisp our name, 

"VVe treasured each loving word. 
And we ftincied, in the sweet, low tones, 

An angel's voice, we heard. 

When the morn awoke the Angel Boy, 
He would kneel by his cot, and -pray 

That the Father Above would teach him to love 
And praise Him through the day : 

And when he sang, as he always did. 

As he sported lightly along, 
A lay of thanksgiving ever seemed 

The burden of his song. 

And when to our arms, in pensive mood. 

Would softly glide the child, 
He seemed from thoughts of earth to Heaven, 

By some holy spell beguiled. 



OUR AXGEL BOY. 81 

When yv^ pointed to tlie blossoms fair, 
He would kiss their leaves and say, 

" I love them, because 'mid the beautiful flowers " 
The angels are ever at play. 

When we bade him list to the warbling birds, 

A smile o'er his face Avould sweep, 
While he whispered, " I love the birds, because 

They sing the angels to sleep." 

When the breezes strayed 'mid his silken curls. 
He would lift his blue eyes, and say, 

"The angels with their shining wings 
Are fanning me 'mid my play." 

When we called him, to watch the sun, as he sank 

To sleep 'mid the clouds at even, 
He would softly say, " I love the hour, 

For it makes me think of Heaven." 

When we pointed upward to the stars, 

He would say, "They are windows bright, 

Through which the eyes of the angels look, 
To watch me through the night." 

At night he would ibid his little hands, 

And ask the God of all love, 
To guard him safely till morning light, 

'Neath the wings of Heavenly love. 



82 OUR ANGEL BOY. 

And when we gazed on the little form, 

Eeposing in slumber deep ; 
It seemed as if the boy were rock'd 

In an angel's arms to sleep. 

And when we read in the Word of God, 

How visitants from the skies 
Entered the Patriarch's lowly tent_, 

Bright angels in disguise, 

It seemed to us, in our humble home, 
Might be dwelling a Heavenly guest ; 

And that in the form of a little child, 
We were hushing an angel to rest. 

We would weave a wreath of the sweetest flowers. 
To twine 'mid his ringlets bright ; 

And they seemed to sleep on his forehead fair,, 
Or waken in floods of light : — 

And oh ! we felt such a wealth of love 

For this, our life's crowning joy ; 
And morn and even^ we bless'd our God^ 

Who had given our Angel Boy. 

When the little span of his sunny life 

Was ended, the angels bright 
Bent over him with their wings, and bore 

Our boy from our loving sight. 



OUR AXGEL BOY. 83 

With many tears, we saw him depart 

AVith the holy angel band ; 
Yet we knew he was only going home, — 

Home to the spirit land. 

No other hands but ours arranged 

The ripples of silken hair, 
That we jjarted with loving tenderness 

Upon his forehead fair ; 

And we took but one of the tresses bright. 

That kiss'd his temples fair. 
For we thought that the angels might weave a crown 

Of the threads of his golden hair : 

And when round our fingers we often twine 

The circlet of gold, we say, 
"■ 'Tis a sunbeam to guide our tear-dim' d eyes 

On our darling's upward way." 

We gather' d the last pale summer flowers. 

And strevv'd them o'er his bier ; 
And they seemed to catch a brighter hue, 

W^hen bedew'd by sorrow's tear. 

We laid the dear form in the little grave^ 

And over it, placed the sod ; 
But we knew he had been gathered safe 

To the bosom of onr God. 



84 



OUR ANGEL BOY. 



And now throiigli the vista of by-gone years, 

Our fading sight can trace 
The little form of fairy mould 

And the beautiful angel ftice. 

A little while, and we too shall go 

To the world of Heavenly joy, 
Where our God will give us back again 

The smile of our Angel Boy. 





ta^i 



THE RAIN ON THE WINDOW-PANE. 




OFT, on the window-pane, is the patter of 
flilling rain — 
On tlie earth, is the shadow of night ; 
And the stars are shining, but all in vain^ 
For we cannot see their light ; 
Yet we know that they shine in the azure sky ; 
And though they gladden not our eye. 

They are making another's pathway bright. 

It falls on the window-seat with a steady, measured 
beat, 

As it fell in days of yore ; 
But it seems the echo of blessed, feet, 

That come and go no more — 
Blessed feet that have ceased to stray — 
Blessed feet that have turned away 

From the path that leads to the open door — 
Turned to pass over the cold, dark Paver, 
At the glimpse of whose waters, we shrink and 

shiver ; 
They have passed o'er its waves to the other shore. 

8-* 



86 THE RAIN ON THE WINDOW-PANE. 

It falls U2)on my ear, and I love the sound to hear. 
Though it wakens sad echoes in the heart ; 

While, in the eye, the silent tear, 
Responsive, seems to start : 

The rain of the heart is falling too ; 

The tiny drops of the spirit's dew 
Keep time to the drops of rain, 

That patter against the window-pane. 

It falls on the frozen ground, with a weary, hollou^ 
sound ; 

How many graves does it bathe in its tears ? 
It falls^ perchance, on some far-off mound, 

Where the grass has grown for years, — 
Where the dreamless sleeper lies ; 

Nor can I go to sleep. 

While Heaven bends down to weep 
Such gentle tears from her sweet blue eyes. 

Though dark be the path we tread, with the pall of 
night overhead. 

We know that through the veil so vast, 
Shining 'neath all the darkness dread. 

Though now they are overcast. 
Are the stars of Infinite Love, 
In the canopy Above, 

Ready to break on our sight, 

W^ith a quiet, steady light, 

When the clouds have melted in raindro23S 
brijrht. 



THE RAIN ON THE WINDOW-PANE. 



87 



O Thou ! whose power divine raaketh the sun to 
shine, 
Or causeth the rain to I'all 
On the just and th' unjust, — Thou, Guardian of 
Thine ! 
Who hearest the prayer of all ; 
We know that, not in vain. 
Thou sendest the pattering rain. 
Or openest Thy treasures of sunshine again. 





STANZAS 



On seeing little Julia Jackson's j^icture in " The Land We Love.'* 




ULIA, darling little Julia, 

Your sweet picture came last night, 
Faintly imaging fair features, 
And soft eyes of starry light. 



I can see the long, dark lashes, 
Fringing eyes of sweetest hue — 

Silken curtains, shading brightness, 
Yet with sunshine peeping through ^ 

Lips like a half-folded rosebud 
Ere the leaflets sweet unclose, 

'Neath whose dewy, glowing petals 
Sleeps the sweetness of the rose : 



It is no new picture, Julia ; 

I have seen the lovely face, 
And have held the fairy figure 

In a fond and close embrace. 



STANZAS. 89 

I have seen the little fingers, 

Toying with the gilded ring, 
And have kissed the lips, half parted, 

Childhood's song of jay to sing. 

As I held the sparkling diamond, 
Grleaming from the golden band^, 

Just to please your baby fancy, 
On your little dimpled hand ; 

I could not but think how queenly, 

On Virginia's forehead lair 
Brightly, from a golden circlet. 

Gleamed a priceless diamond rare. 

From her coronet of glory, 

From her crown of jewels bright. 

Shone the diamond of the cluster 
With a pure and undira'd light. 

Taken from her blood-stained forehead^ 
Where it e'er was wont to rest. 

Only to be jiressed the closer 

To her throbbing, aching breast. 

Yes, Virginia, o'er her hero, 

Lays her softest, greenest sod; 
But his sainted spirit standetli 

In the jiresence of his God. 



90 



STANZAS. 



Darling, like a circling halo 
Eesting on your little liead^ 

Will your sire's reflected glory 
Ever o'er your life be shed. 

May the noon and evening, Julia, 
Of your life give back the light. 

That with rays of glory, darling. 

Makes your morn so passing bright. 




EDGEWOOD COTTAGE. 




AR, on the crest of yon hill, stands the 
little cottage still, 
Under the oak's cool shade — 
The little cottage that rose at onr will^ 
And whose corner-stone we laid : 
It stands, as it stood in days of yore ; 
But its granite walls are ours no more, 

Nor the hill-side path, where our feet have 
strayed. 



The sun's last golden ray gives the parting kiss of 
day, 

Bathing the scene in its rosy light : 
Let me linger, awhile, till the twilight grayj, 

The messenger of night, 

Throws over the golden light 
Its mantle of shadowy gray. 



92 EDGEWOOD COTTAGE. 

Home of each tender joy ! beautiful, cherished toy ! 

Thou art one of the things of the past ; 
The present pleasures must have their alloy, 

And their brilliancy cannot last : 
Other pictures may hang from the walls. 

Faces soft and sweet ; 

And the echo of stranger feet 
Eesound through the (|uiet halls. 



Who hath not built for his heart a beautiful work 
of art, 

A fair and exquisite home, 
And gracefully fitted together each part ; 

Where the feelings and fancy may roam ? 
Who hath not taught the delicate vine 

Of love so fair, 

With its blossoms rare, 
Kound the home of the heart to twine ? 



Sweet flower, on whose petals white, gleam the 
morning dew-drops bright ! 

It fades in its beauty away ; 
For it cannot bear the scorching light 

Of the sun's meridian ray : 
The tender flower of Perfect Love 
Can only bloom in bowers Above, 

Far away from the touch of Decay. 



EDGEWOOD COTTAGE. 93 

Why do we make us a home, as through life's way 
we roam ? 

Can we not trust to the guiding light, 
The beacon that leads to our distant Home, 

Which lies beyond shadow and nighty — 
The beautiful, beautiful star 
That shines on us from afar. 

With a radiance pure and bright ? 

Where may the spirit rest, but on the glorious crest 

Of those beautiful hills afar ? — 
Those snowy hills ! where dwell the Blest 

Who have followed the guiding star — 
The Morning Star ! whose light 

From darkness leads away 

Unto the '' Perfect Day" 
That knows no cominsr night. 




THE LAST GOOD-NIGHT, 




OOD-NIGHT, Papa, Mamma, for I 
Am going to the land of dreams, 
Unto my little chamber where 

The moon sheds down her silver 
beams : 



" And from my window I will gaze 
Upon the stars that on me smile 
Like little windows that are made 

To let down Heaven's ligbt, the while, 

" Before I go to sleep, I'll pray 

That God will keep me through the night, 
And send, to watcli around my bed, 
A band of guardian angels bright. 



" And Mamma ! I hope the one, 

That brings us sleep, a kiss of love 
Will softly on mine eye-lids press, 

And fold tliem down as wings of dove. 



THE LAST GOOD-NIGHT. 95 

I hope too that the angel bright, 

That to our slumbering pillow brings 

Such beauteous pictures of the night, 
Will fold round me his golden wings." 

This good-night spoke a little boy, 
In music tones, with glancing eye. 

And golden curls tliat fell around 

His face like sunshine from the sky : 

And when the good-night kiss was given, 
In robes of snowy white arrayed. 

Upon his pillow, soon to sleep. 
The little curly head was laid. 

When Morning, with her sunshine, came 
And wrapped him in a flood of light. 

The boy slept on, nor woke to greet, 

With childhood's joy, her presence bright : 

And when the mother came to wake 
To life and joy her lovely child, 

It seemed that in his placid face 
The beauty of an angel smiled. 

Upon his snowy forehead lay 

The ringlets of his shining hair ; 

As Nature, with a lavish hand. 
Lays sunshine on the lily fair. 



96 THE LAST GOOD-NIGIIT. 

'' How beautiful !" the mother said, 

" How like a snow-flake from on high, 
Ere yet its hue of purity 

Is soiled by earth's polluting dye." 

With loving lips, she stooped to press 
Love's signet on that brow of grace ; — • 

Some hand, by icy spell, had changed 
To marble cold that lovely face. 

Instead of dreams, sweet little boy. 
Death pressed his icy lips to thine ; 

And angels stooped to bear away 

Thy spirit from its beauteous shrine ; 

For while all slept, a little soul 

Was from its earthly dwelling riven, 

And, 'mid angelic songs of joy. 

Passed through the golden gate of Heaven. 




MAGGIE OF THE SOUTH-LAND. 




AGGIE of the South-land, 
Your picture met my eye, 
While basking 'neatli the glory 
Of your sunny Southern sky : 
'Twas a face of radiant beauty, 

Daguerreotyped in light, 
With a veil of silken ringlets 

That caught the sunshine bright. 



Fair nature chiseled features 

Most exquisite and fair — 
An intellectual forehead — 

A mouth of beauty rare ; — 
Two scarlet threads of coral. 

Through which pure pearls might peep ; 
With eyes, o'er whose soft gladness, 

A shade of thought might creep — 



98 MAGGIE OF THE SOUTHLAND. 

A cheek of rounded outline, 

Where lay a rose-leaf red ; 
And over all pure lilies, 

With lavish hand she spread : — 
Such was the vision lovely, 

Which memory wakes again ; 
Yet, though sunshine gilds the picture, 

'Tis shadow 'd o'er with pain. 

Sweet Maggie of the South-land^ 

A shadow resteth now 
On your life's once undim'd morning, 

Clouding that pure young brow : 
The Sun of Joy no longer 

Sheds brightness all around ; 
No more, your little footsteps 

O'er flowery gardens bound. 

Yet, a heritage of glory _, 

M}^ little child, is yours ; 
And a stream of royal scarlet 

Through the blue-veined net-work pours 
An inheritance more princely 

Could not be given to you ; 
For you are a hing's fair daughter, 

His blood your veins flows through — 

A king ! whose throne most royal 
Is the throbbing Southern heart. 



MAGGIE OF THE SOUTHLAND. 99 

From which no hand can tear him, 

No cruel power can part : 
The rubies and the diamonds 

With which his crown appears, 
Are the blood of his compatriots 

And a grateful nation's tears. 

Yes, he, M'liose voice and counsel 

Were to his country given, 
Until by foul oppression 

Its pennon dear was riven, 
Sits calmly, bravely waiting, 

With mien erect and bold, 
For the great Sea of Lava 

Its victim to infold. 

E'en now, the crater, Malice, 

With lurid fires of Hate, 
Prepares its deadly missiles. 

To spoil and desolate : 
E'en now, 'raid flames malignant, 

The Sea of Lava red 
Pours forth, in unslacked i'ury. 

About a nation's head. 

Just as with ai'm so stalwart. 

The laborer's axe was plied, 
Till, 'neath the lava casing, 

A city was descried — 



100 



MAGGIE OF THE SOUTHLAND. 



A city ! whose proportions 

So beautiful and grand 
Drew thousands, to admire it, 

From every clime and land ; — 

So shall the hand of Justice 

Strike the lava crust of Hate, 
And place the South-land, Maggie, 

Among the nation's great ; 
Though the dust and mould of ages 

May gather o'er our clay, 
And a noble generation 

In bondage pass away. 

Yes, Maggie of the South-land, 

That clime shall cherish'd be^ 
Where'er there is a spirit 

That pants for Liberty : 
Where'er there is a whisper 

Of Justice or of Right, 
The glory of the South-land 

Shall gild Fame's pages bright. 




BABY AT PLAY WITH A SUNBEAM. 




ABY^ was very gay, 

As she sat on the carpet at jjlay, 
Trying to catch a sunny ray 

Of the beautiful, golden light ; 
But even as she tried to clasp 
The sunbeam, it slipped from her grasp ; 
And I said : '^ I wonder you do not cry 
For the sunshine you've lost, my Baby-bye ;" — 
But she said, with a smile so bright,— 



" Oh ! no. for I look up and see 

So many more coming to me ; 
Our Heavenly Father has put in His hand, 
To gather up some of the golden sand. 
To scatter all over the beautiful land ; 

And if 1 look up right 

In the eyes of the beautiful light, 

He will give me some of the sunshine bright." 



102 BABY AT PLAY WITH A SUNBEAM. 

Baby, who ever drew 
Such a beautiful lesson as you, 
From the loss of a ray of glorious light. 
But you did not lose it, my Baby, quite ; 
It went from your hand right into your heart, 
And you sent it to mine with a beautiful art, 
Which only to them are given. 

Whose angels, with crowns of gold. 
Do ever, in glory, behold 
The face of their Father which is in Heaven. 

We must not catch at the light. 

But must wait till our Father Above, 
Out of His boundless Love, 
Sends us a sunbeam bright ; 
Is this the lesson, my Baby sweet. 
You are teaching me, as you sit at my feet 
In your unsoiled robes of white ? 




— w:^>-^>^ 





HE sliadows of the coming night 

Are gathering all around, and I, 
With the great heart of Nature, sigh 
That day is fading from our sight. 



In childhood's bright and sunny hours, 
I loved to catch the golden ray 
That followed the glad steps of Day 

And touched, with morning light, the flowers. 

But now, I think the Twilight shade 

Has rest for ray tired heart, the while, 
That comes not with the sunshine's smile. 

Where, in the morn of life, I played. 

Oh ! could my pencil catch the hue 

Of the bright clouds that, round the Sun 
Now that his day of work is done. 

Infold him in their smile of dew. 

With dazzling light his last smile beams ; 

The glory of his setting ray, 

Scattering the clouds that round him lay. 
O'er all the iace of Nature, streams : — 



104 TWILIGHT, 

That face ! which wakens 'neath his light, 
The beautiful and flower-crowned bride : 
Then puts on weeds at eventide,, 

The mourning widow of the night. 

The Twilight of the heart's bright day 
Is when the Sun of Joy goes down, 
Shedding its last bright beams upon 

The life that brightened 'neath its ray. 

Some hearts go out in Twilight, some 
Watch meekly for the stars Above, 
Knowing the sunshine of God's love 

Will, with the early morning, come. 




MINNIE. 




H(3 is this with eyes so blue^, 
Deptlis of liquid azure true, 
Childhood's pathway tripping through ? 

Minnie ! 



Who is this with smile of joy? 
This, the little household toy. 
In her pleasure, no alloy — 

Minnie ! 

Who is this with golden hair. 
Falling round her shoulders fair, 
Flinging sunshine everywhere? 

Minnie ! 



Who is this with liquid tone, 
Sweetest sound we e'er have known, 
With a music all its own? — 

Minnie ! 



TOG WINNIE, 

Nature's carpet 'neatli lier tread, 
With the hlue sky o'er her head, 
Through her three hright years she's sped ;- 

Minnie ! 

When the morning sunshine creeps 
Througli the chamber where she sleeps, 
Then slie opes her sweet eye-peeps : — 

Minnie ! 

Everywhere our footsteps tread, 
We may see the sunshine shed 
From her little golden head : — 

Minnie ! 

She is never out of sight, 
Until, in her robes of white, 
She is folded for the night : — 

Minnie ! 

May the little snowy dress 
Emblem be of Righteousness, 
Which she ever may possess : — 

Minnie ! 

May sweet blessings from Above 
Nestle, like a white-winged dove, 
O'er her head, our own sweet Love, — 

Minnie ! 




LINES 

On receicinrj a Lzlkr from a Friend in Florida conlaining some 
Flowers. 



IZZIE, your white-winged missive came, 
to-day 

Just as the light 
Peep'd through the window, making all 

the room 
So softly bright, 
Then bathing all the earth in sunny smiles, — 
The irlorious lifrht ! 



Lizzie, each softly outlined character^ 

Each pencil'd word, 
The slumbering deptlis of feeling in my soul, 

Sweet friend, liath stir'd ; 
There seems a heart-throb 'neath the outline fair 

Of each fond word. 



108 LINES. 

Your letter stirs the waters of iny soul, 

As if the wing 
Of a kind angel touch 'd the troubled waves, 

Healing to bring, — 
The rustle of the snowy missive seems 

An cmgeVs iving. 

'Tis laden with the perfume of sweet flowers ; 

The very air, 
Through which it passes seems to catch the breath 

Of blossoms fair : 
The fragrance of your own sweet orange groves 

Fills all the air. 

[Nature is wrap'd up in her ermine j)all 

Of spotless snow ; 
Yet the sweet blossoms, that you send to me, 

Breathe Spring's sweet glow — 
As if the heart of Nature softly throb'd 

Beneath the snow. 

They are as sweet as the glad memories 

Of our own Spring, 
When we were like the birds that tuned their voice 

Praises to sing — 
Pressed flowers that we have tenderly laid by 

From Life's past Spring ! » 



LIXES. 



109 



I have no answering flowers to send you save 

This leaflet green ; 
Oh ! wear it ; 'tis the sweetest thing that I, 

To-day, can glean : 
'Tis taken, dearest, from the heart that lives 

An evergreen. 




BIRDIE HAS FLOWN. 



Ill 1)11'] has passed away — 
]>irdie, with song so gay ! 
To tlie beaiUiftil realms of endless day — 
Birdie, with heart so light — 

Birdie, with wings so bright — 

Birdie hath taken a Heavenhj flight. 




A year has not passed away, 
Bince the light of" her beautiful day 
Was quenched in the shade of Death's dreamless 

night, 
Since the little bird, so sweet, so bright. 
Plumed her beautiful wings lor an upward flight, 
For evermore to stand 
'Mid the snow-clad, angel band. 
Who make music in the Heavenly Land. 



Birdie, I mind me now 

Of the light on thy fair young brow — 
The light of innocence and truth. 
That gilded the morning of thy youth : 



BIRDIE HAS FLOW^\ 



111 



And the fairy form of grace, 

With the lovely angel face, 

Hath in Memory's quiet halls a place. 

The locusts still cast their shade 

O'er the path where thy feet have strayed ; 

And their snow blossoms are sweetly shed 

Over the little grassy bed 

Where they have pillow'd thy fair young head^ 
Where the Church, our Mother sweet. 
Hath whispered her prayers so meet. 

Now, another, a stranger race 

Inhabit the beautiful place 
That her sunny presence was wont to grace : 

The old halls echo, no more, 

The song that she warbled of yore ; 
And the beautiful song of her life is o'er. 




PEACE TO OUR HONORED DEAD. 




EACE to our Honored Dead — peace to our 
slain ! 
They sleep upon their arms, o'er many 
a plain, 
Till the Last Trumpet summons them again : 

Peace to our Honored Dead ! 

Over a hundred battle-plains they sleep — 
Over their countless graves the night winds sweep, 
And Heaven, in dew-drops, nightly bends to weep: 
Peace to our Honored Dead ! 

If stripped of all things else, the Southern land. 
Gathering them in her fond, parental hand, 
Claims them as her's — her grand^ heroic band — 

Her ranks of Honored Dead ! 



They sleep, a dauntless, all unconquered host, 
Near her bright streamlets — on her wave-beat coast ; 
Her glorious monument, her pride, her boast — 

Her files of Honored Dead ! 



TEACE TO OUR HONORED DEAD. 113 

Though she be robbed of all things, though no train 
Of veteran warriors tread the battle-plain ; 
They cannot rob her of her glorious slain — • 

Iler dain — our Honored Dead. 

They are the seed that,'neath th' refreshing shower,. 
Sleep, but to germinate in the full Jioioer : — 
Call her not poor ; she hath a royal dower — 

Her dower — our Honored Dead t 

Call her not ^oor; a diadem more rare 
Ke'er rested on a c[ueenly forehead fair, 
Than that which our dear land is called to wear — 
Her crown of Honored Dead 1 

Ifc cannot lose its lustre ; for its light. 

Shining down the long aisles of Time, more bright 

Will make her record on Truth's pages white — 

This crown of Honored Dead f 

The mother, for her living children dear, 

Hath prayers, and blessings, and fond words of 

cheer ; 
But for the ones that sleej^ in death, the tear — 

Tears for her cherished Dead I 

Thus, land of their nativity, give deep 
'Love to the living, with fond prayers ; but keep 
Tears for the martyr'd ones, in Death that sleep — 
Tears for t/nj cherished Dead t 



lU PEACE TO OUR HONORED DEAD. 

They drew their nurture from tliy mighty breast; 
In thy warm bosom, fold them now, to rest ; 
Mingle their dust with thine, Mother blest ! 

Home of our Honored Dead ! 

Ah ! hold them closer to thy throbbing heart — 

Yea, lovingly ; they are of thee a part ; 

The piHow for tlieir wearied heads, thou art — 

Land of our Honored Dead ! 

Because they yielded lives so bright for thee, 
Art thou less loved, less honored? or do we 
Hold thee less dear in thy captivity ? 

Soidh of our Honored Dead ! 

Land of the South! oh ! do we love thee less? 
Do we not rather, weeping, kneel, to bless 
The tomb that holds so much of happiness ? 

Grave of our Honored Dead ! 

Bowing submissive to Heaven's chastening rod, — 
Kneeling, we pray, above their cherished sod, — 
'^'Give Thou, in Thy great Mercy, our God! 

Peace to our Honored Dead." 







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